Not So Bad
by Adelaide Elizabeth Morgan
Summary: When you are at your lowest low, hope and love can help to heal even the most shattered soul


Numb hands wrapped around his now cold mug of coffee, Jim Ellison stared out of the window at the rain lashing down. The greyness of the sky seemed to have soaked into him, darkening his mood, chilling him from the inside. The wind rattled the glass, startling Jim back from the edge of a zone out.  
  
With a deep sigh, he placed the cup down on the table and stood, wincing as the chair scraped along the floor as he pushed it back into place.  
  
He'd known from the moment he'd woken up in an empty bed that today was not going to be a good day. Blair's residual scent and body warmth were still present in the bed, but it just wasn't the same as waking up next to him.  
  
The thought of Blair warmed Jim, lighting his face as he cleared his dishes and tidied the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, eyes closed as he pictured his lover lying naked and drowsy on their bed, his damp curls sticking to his face and neck. Blair was still out of breath, panting through parted, full, kissable lips; lips that Jim could never taste enough. His eyes were half-lidded, his pupils dilated so far that only the slightest hint of blue was seen, but they fixed Jim with a gaze so intent that the Sentinel was unable to break eye contact.  
  
With devious intent, Blair traced his lips with his fingers, before slipping one into the wet cavern of his mouth and sucking on it, his other hand sliding down to tug on his nipple ring. Rolling over onto his back, he spread his legs, allowing Jim to see all of him. Forcing himself to only look and not touch, Jim let his eyes wonder over his lover's body, following the path of Blair's hands as they travelled down his torso. He skirted past his cock, which was starting to get interested in proceedings, choosing instead to run his hands down the 'v' of his legs and rolling his balls in his hands. His breathing growing faster as he grew more aroused, Blair dropped his head back on the pillow, breaking eye contact with Jim. Unable to stop himself, Jim reached out, fingers tracing the length of Blair's cock, breathing the scent of his lover's arousal in deeply.  
  
Jim groaned as he felt himself grow hard and aroused, his mental image of Blair too vivid. Unbuttoning his jeans, he brought himself to a rapid release, pumping desperately into his fisted hand, his head thrown back and a cry of his lover's name on his lips. His hands gripped a death grip on the counter as he held himself up, aftershocks of his orgasm coursing through his body.  
  
He made his way to the sofa, where he flicked through the channels, eventually finding an old film he liked. He left it playing, but wasn't paying much attention to it. His daydream of Blair was still too fresh in his mind, and he found himself missing his younger lover.  
  
"The one day I get off work in ages, and Blair has to work," he muttered grumpily, feeling like his lower lip was going to start sticking out in a pout. He crossed his arms across his chest, and let his head fall back against the couch. His nose wrinkled at the smell of stale beer that hung in the air, and he sighed. Every day this week he'd had to chuck empty beer cans into the garbage, and he was starting to get worried about his Guide's mental state.  
  
It had been a long week of only seeing Blair momentarily as they passed each other mornings and evenings when both arrived and left the loft. Blair was working in a second-hand bookshop, and Jim had been working a nocturnal stakeout that had finally finished last night with an arrest. He had selfishly been hoping that Blair would be able to take the day off, but his Guide had been unable to get the time at such short notice. Having spent the last four years with Blair, Jim found himself pining for his company, wanting nothing more than to sit down with him and just talk.  
  
Jim shifted around on the sofa so he was lying stretched out across its length, his head resting on the arm. His eyes slid closed as he wondered whether Blair was all right.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Blair Sandburg's day had rapidly gone from bad to worse. Hell, his week had. The monotonous voice in his head snidely commented that it wasn't his day or week that was bad, merely his entire life, but Blair pointedly ignored the voice.  
  
He glanced around the bookstore, and seeing no customers, walked over to the door, and turned the sign over to read 'closed'. Anne, the manager, wasn't due back for 10 minutes and he really needed to sit down for a second or two. He sank into the nearest chair with a sigh of relief, cupping his aching head in his hands.  
  
A moan escaped his lips before he could stifle it. Man, but did he have a headache. It felt like someone had taken an axe and was trying to split his head open. From the inside.  
  
'It's not a headache,' the voice took the time to remind him. 'The phrase you're looking for is a hangover.' Blair silently denied the accusation, despite knowing it to be the truth. 'What were you thinking of,' the voice continued, ignoring the interruption 'sitting alone in the loft, chugging beers and getting shit faced? What would Jim think if he knew? He'll be home by now, probably already does know, can smell it. He's a Sentinel, remember? He'll probably think you're a worthless alcoholic, and leave you, just like everyone else has. He won't want you. No-one wants you...'  
  
Clutching his head tighter, and fighting the reflex to rock in the chair, Blair muttered between clenched teeth, "Shut up. Just shut up."  
  
A gentle touch to his shoulder made Blair look up. Anne had crouched down in front of him and was searching his face with a worried gaze, the back of her hand going to his forehead, checking him for a temperature. He jerked back from her touch, whimpering as another wave of pain rushed through his head.  
  
"Blair, honey, are you OK?"  
  
"I'm fine." He pasted on a smile to try and reassure the older woman, but she didn't look convinced. "I've just got a monster of a headache. I'm pretty sure it's just dehydration, I'll get a drink, maybe take a Tylenol on my break if it doesn't clear up." As he spoke, he stood with the intent of getting a tablet, but as he stood his vision swam and he sank back into the chair. He moaned again as the sudden movement sent another spike of pain straight to his aching head.  
  
"You just sit there and relax. I'll get you the painkiller, then I'll shut up the shop for a while and drive you home."  
  
"No, Anne, you don't have to do that. I'll be fine." 'I don't want to be a burden,' he added silently. "Once the Tylenol kicks in, I'll get back to work."  
  
Anne handed Blair a glass of water and two tablets. "No, Blair, you're ill. Coming down with the 'flu or something. I'm taking you home, and I don't want to see you here until you're better. Do you understand me?"  
  
Blair nodded as he swallowed the tablets. "I'll make my own way home. Fresh air will do me the world of good."  
  
Anne frowned, but relented. "You be careful, though."  
  
"I will." Very slowly, and very carefully, Blair walked into the back office and pulled his coat from the chair he had draped it on. He walked out of the shop into the driving rain, a last weak smile over his shoulder to Anne.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
His fingers numb from the icy rain, Blair cursed as he dropped his keys for the third time while trying to unlock the door. He had to be quiet, Jim was asleep, but his fingers just couldn't seem to manage to put the key into the hole. As he stood to attempt entry for the fourth time, the door swung open. He got the slightest glimpse of a Jim Smile, before being pulled in, and stripped efficiently, his clothing replaced by warm fluffy towels, and another wrapped around his hair. The next thing Blair knew, he was sitting on the sofa, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. Jim was crouched down on the floor, his hands on Blair's knees, a worried expression on his face.  
  
Neither man spoke, and Blair refused to look at Jim, instead choosing to stare into his cup, taking the occasional sip. The silence starting to annoy him, Jim leant forward and tipped Blair's finger up with his chin, forcing the anthropologist to look at him. Blair met his eyes almost steadily, a wry smile tugging at his lips, even as a lone tear slid down his cheek.  
  
Unable to contain the flood now that the barriers had broken, Blair fell forwards into Jim's arms, crying uncontrollably, sobs wracking his body. Jim said nothing, just sat there, holding his partner, his heart aching to comfort his lover. But Jim knew instinctively that that wasn't what Blair needed. Blair needed to let it all out; it had been festering in him for too long now. Ever since his press conference, Blair had become steadily more quiet and withdrawn, depressed even. His usual bounce and sparkle were missing, and it pained Jim that Blair never once came to him with his problems, never wanted to talk about it. Just locked his feelings away inside, and tried to ignore them. Jim wasn't sure what had happened for Blair's defences to break down the way they had, but in a way he was glad it was almost out in the open.  
  
Blair pulled away, his eyes red-rimmed and still watery, his cheeks flushed and tearstained. He smiled weakly at Jim, a few tears still falling. Jim smiled in return, wiped the tears away with his fingers and kissed Blair gently on the lips.  
  
Jim moved to sit on the sofa next to Blair, and pulled him into his arms. "What happened?"  
  
"Anne sent me home. She thinks I might be coming down with the flu; I've been feeling sick and have a headache. She offered to drive me, but I wouldn't let her. I got to the stop, and just missed the bus. Checked my pockets, and I didn't have enough change for the bus, so I walked. It's not the best of weather and I got caught in a serious downpour..." Blair felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach for lying to Jim, but he knew the Sentinel wouldn't be able to handle the truth, so it was better all round.  
  
He risked a sideways glance at Jim, and winced internally at the disbelieving expression and raised eyebrow. Jim hadn't bought his story for one second. "Damn," he thought.  
  
"Uh-huh." Jim's tone was similar to his expression. "And how much did you have to drink last night, Chief?"  
  
Blair blushed as he answered, "One or two," he replied quietly.  
  
"And the night before?" Jim didn't want to push Blair too hard, but he knew the truth wouldn't be told voluntarily. Not when Blair was as defensive as he was.  
  
Blair curled in on himself as much as he could without pulling away from Jim. "You know about that, huh?" Jim nodded and made a show of exaggerated sniffing of the air. "Oh, I should have known really. I tried to mask the smell. I couldn't smell it, didn't think of your senses. First time for that, I guess."  
  
"I smelled it the second I walked in." Jim admitted, adding silently, "Every time." Blair didn't respond. He pulled Blair tighter against him, and asked quietly, "Why?"  
  
"Stops it hurting so much." Blair answered after a long pause. "When I can't feel anything, it doesn't hurt and I don't feel so empty." Silent tears escaped Blair's tightly closed eyes, and he made no move to brush them away, or stop them from falling.  
  
Jim felt his heart constrict, and swallowed around the hard lump that had formed in his throat. All his instincts were urging him to Stop The Guide From Hurting, but he had no idea what the problem was, or how to solve it.  
  
"What hurts, Blair?"  
  
Blair didn't reply, only shook his head and started to rock ever so slightly. Biting his bottom lip to stifle either a sob, or tears, or a sigh, Jim held Blair as close as he could, burying his face in his lover's dark curls. "Why didn't you come to me?" Jim's voice was a whisper that nearly broke asking the question he didn't want to hear answered but knew he had to ask.  
  
"I couldn't..." Blair choked the words out.  
  
A knot of dread twisted in Jim's stomach; what could be so bad that Blair would rather turn to alcohol rather than talking to him? "Blair? C'mon chief, you're scaring me here? Why couldn't you talk to me?"  
  
"Scared," Blair whispered through his tears, the words barely audible to Jim's hearing. "I was afraid you'd leave like everyone else." He broke off into fresh sobs that twisted Jim's heart further. He turned Blair round in his arms so that they were facing each other. Blair dropped his head down, leaning on Jim's shoulder, tears soaking the shirt.  
  
"Who's left you?"  
  
Blair hiccupped before answering, and coughed to clear his throat. "Everyone. Naomi. Molly. Steve. Adam. Kelly... " Jim's eyes narrowed and his face hardened as Blair listed many names he recognised as his friends from Rainier. He made a mental note to have words with Naomi Sandburg. He knew she was one of those "free spirit" types. But no one ruined the man he love's life, then walked out. Especially not Blair's own mother - not when he clearly needed her.  
  
Blair shrugged. "I guess I'm just not good enough for them anymore. They don't want to admit knowing a fraud. "He laughed wryly, even as more tears welled up. "I... didn't want you to leave, didn't want you to know in case you felt the same, thought I was pathetic. Wanted to be good enough for you."  
  
"Blair..." Jim breathed, his heart aching for his lover. He took a deep breath. "I love you, Blair. You do believe that, don't you?"  
  
There was a long pause, one that seemed to last forever, and yet no time at all, before Blair nodded slightly.  
  
"I'll say it again. Blair, I love you." Jim couldn't help but notice the near-smile in Blair's eyes when he said it, and knew he would be saying those three words a lot in the near future. "I love you, and I'm never going to leave you. OK?" Blair nodded tentatively again. "I don't know how exactly, but we're going to get though this. You and me. We'll do it together. You just have to remember how much I love you, and we'll get through this, somehow."  
  
Blair nodded again and deep down in his heart he knew Jim's words to be the truth. 


End file.
